Tarantula

by Bob Dylan

  a greasy fat newspaper lays on Roger’s counter—Roger, the owner of Cafe de la All Nite—a Spanish all nite restuarant—is sad for the first time in 9 months—his mother has disappeared in Paris & he fears now that all those frenchmen might have their fun over what they think is her dead body … roger glances thru the facts of the fat greasy newspaper—a tiger stampede in hollywood—annette & frankie avalon found in pacific ocean—hands tied behind their backs—footage of bugs bunny documentary found in the lungs of tom mix, whom everybody thought was dead but showed up as a boxtop—rebels attack Walgreen’s in Fantasia—dictator wires for more candy—U.S. sending in marines & arnold stang—in Phoenix, man eats his wife at 2 in the afternoon—FBI investigating/ bomb explodes in norman mailer’s pantry—leaves him color blind—big shakeup in sports department—ed sullivan & Freshkid, a relative of Prince Rainier & visiting this country as a guest of Cong Long, a grandson of Huey Long—seen escaping with catchers’ mitts—contact lenses & dope tablets—Bishop Sheen very disturbed—when asked for opinion—just stated “i cant believe it—i cant believe this could happen to ed—it mustve been the company he’s been keeping lately”—william buckshot junior writing oriental cookbook—is very upset that he’s lived after falling off diving board with no water in the pool—waiter crankcase arrested in Utah for lifting candles—when questioned, he calmly explained that he needed them to listen to some early little richard records—Doctor Sponge, inventor of deer poison & snap crackle & pop cereal—willing to take case for slight fee/ little girls spray chancellor erhard with goose fat on his arrival from miami—president lets embarrassing fart at banquet table—blames it on the eggs—stock market takes worst dive in years—in gary, indiana, colored man shot twenty times thru the head—coroner says cause of death is unknown … no good movies playing in town & only one job in the want ads—NEEDED: a honest man to be rag picker for friendly family—must be sturdy—preferably a basketball player—must have a love for children—couch & a toilet—wages to be discussed—phone TOongee 1965 … Roger puts down his greasy paper & who should come in but Scrounge the Suckup girl—it is early morning & they are not lovers anymore—they are customers 9 months later, Fringe is born—he wears short pants—goes to college—gets a job for a war magazine—he marries a nice plump girl whose father is a natural winner/ Fringe meets more & more people—he goes on a diet & then he dies

  to my students:

  i take it for granted that youve all read

  & understand freud—dostoevsky—st.

  michael—confucius—coco joe—einstein—

  melville—porgy snaker—john zulu—kafka—

  sartre—smallfry—& tolstoy—all right then—

  what my work is—is merely picking up where

  they left off—nothing more—there you have

  it in a nutshell—now i’m giving you my

  book—i expct you all to jump right in—

  the exam will be in two weeks—everybody

  has to bring their own eraser.

  your professor

  herold the professor

  False Eyelash in Maria’s Transmission

  maria—she’s mexican—but she’s american as Howling Wolf—“my worried mind, it annoys me! i cant take my rest! i’m disgusting!” says her brother, who sneaks across the border & gets drunk on skinny whores & Turkish gas—“maria needs a shot” says King Villager “she needs a shot of a very bored God”—the rest of the villagers sing a song that sounds like “oh the days of forty-nine” in a Welsh accent & Adlai Stevenson starting a riot on the mountaintop … maria once nailed coffins for a living—“i will bust a plateglass window over Adlai Stevenson’s head!” says her brother very drunk on Turkish gas “i will prove to him that he too is a masochist—i shall make him bend like a woman & wish he was on a freight train to Frisco”—a marine with his finger nibbled—Josephine—whose grandfather died at Shiloh—stabbed maria once & hid her clothes—she was arrested on an incest charge … King Villager, who is slowly dying of cancer, polishes his noisy beard now & mutters “cops—progress—american monuments” & “nothing matters” maria has made love with a beggar recently—he was disguised in flamboyant tinfoil—they made it in a saddlebag—she can run a mile in 5 days point 9 & the traveling roadshow that comes thru the town once a year respects her for it maria’s father lays dead on the hill—rich pimps—humanity & civilization walk over his grave to show her that they mean business … she is not going on any goodwill tours this year—there is a false eyelash in her transmission … there is not many places she can taste

  this is my last letter—i’ve tried to

  please you, but i see now that you have

  too much on your mind—what you need is

  someone to flatter you—i would do that, but

  what would be the worth? after all, i

  need nothing from you—you are so much

  tied up in, though, that you have turned

  into a piece of hunger—while the mystics

  of the world jump in the sun, you have

  turned into a lampshade—if youre going to think,

  dont think about why people dont love each

  other—think about why they dont love themselves—

  maybe then, you will begin to love them—if

  you have something to say, let me know, i’m

  just around the corner, located by the flight

  controls—take it easy & dont scratch too

  much—watch the green peppers & i think youve

  had enough popcorn—youre turning into an addict—

  as i said, there’s simply nothing i can give

  you excpt a simply—there is nothing i can take

  from you excpt a guilty conscience—i cant give

  nor take any habit … see you at the asquerade

  ball

  tormentedly

  water boy

  Al Aaraaf & the Forcing Committee

  now the anarchist—we call him Moan—he takes us & Medusa—she carries the wigs—Moan carries the maps—by noon, we’re in Abyss Hallway—there are shadows of jugglers on the wall & from out of the Chelsea part of the ceiling drops Monk—Moan’s boy—Medusa going into a room with two swords above the door—some removable mirrors inside—Medusa disappears … Lacky, a strange counterpart of the organization—he comes out of the room carrying a mirror—both swords above the door fall down—one sticks into the floor—the other slices him in half … Monk, typical flunky & writer of eccentric gag lines to tell yourself if youre ever hung up in the Andes—he leads us into a room with Chinese sayings that all read “a penny slaved is a penny is a penny is a penny” … there is a gigantic looking glass & Monk immediately disintegrates … after lunch, you hear a punch of rocks & car accidents over a loudspeaker & Chang Chung—some transient & a professional extra sensual bum without any pride or shame & he’s selling rebel war cries & “how to become a birth control pill” pamphlets—“invent me a signature” says Mom “i must go sign some papers concerning the zippers of truth” “zippers of truth!” says Chang Chung “there is no truth!” “right” says Moan “but there are zippers” “very sorry—velly solly—it is my mistake—it’s just that i’m wearing huge shoes today that’s all” “dont let it happen again” says Moan, staring down to his own shoes … down the hallway now in a wheelchair comes Photochick—she is the flower of Moan & she’s eating a cowpie

  Grady O’lady comes in—gives everybody the nod & wants to know where she can get a maid—“dig henry miller?” she asks kind of snaky like—“you mean that fantastically dead henry miller? the real estate agent henry miller?” “what you mean?” say Grady O’lady “henry’s not a real estate agent—he’s a cavedweller—he’s an artist—he writes about God” “i’m thinking of another henry miller—i’m thinking of the one that wears a tulip in his crotch & writes about cecil b. de mille’s girls … O’lady takes an orange out of her pocket “got this in the Aztec country—watch me now boys” she tak
es the orange & squeezes it very gently & slowly—then she rips it open madly & snarls & it oozes & dribbles down her mouth—all over her shirt—more—more—she’s all covered in orange—Moan comes in with his art critic—Sean Checkshit & both of them—they start discussing a shipping deal “Junior Bork has just finished his novel on World War I—speaks very good for our side & we must remember not to use it for toilet paper” “i’m going to use it for toilet paper” says Photochick “explain yourself!” says Moan & Photochick explains that one person’s truth is always someone else’s lie & Moan he starts whipping her with his map & she starts crying & walks into a room with mirrors & blows up—“now back to this shipping deal” says Moan, who turns around to find Sean Checkshit on the floor with Grady O’lady & theyre both covered in orange “tell me more about this henry miller” says Sean “oo ah isnt it wonderful” says Grady O’lady

  in Ponce de Leon land—the union leader—Stormy Leader—is on exhibition fighting a lady wrestler … out of his past appears Insanely Hoppy screaming & dancing Screaming—pouting “the world belongs to the woikas—the woikas—none of you want to be woikas—none of you—none of you could make it—none of you” “shut up!” says Moan, who comes in the room unnoticed “shut up—i’ve got a backache & anyway it’s workers not woikas!” “the world is his—it’s his that looks like a walrus & moves about like a walrus & has to sleep with a wife that feels like a walrus & he’s forced to be a walrus for a buncha nagging kids & he goes to nagging walrus ball games & plays poker with a bunch of walruses & then he’s driven into the earth & buried with a walrus in his mouth—i dare not say enough about him—he lives in his armpit & he hates you—he has no need for you—you clutter his life—you are lucky to be hanging around in his world—you have no choice excpt to walk naked—why be so honorable about it—why be so honorable about sleeping with pigs?” CRASH “put that boy in with proverb writers—but give him a bad review & say that he beat his wife & ate pork—say that he ate meat on Friday—say anything—just get him out of here till he’s ready for training” … a lost pony express rider peers out from the trap door—he is carrying a picture of a long corridor & he sort of blows out his words when he talks “you are all fools! you cant add! you can count to a million but none of you—none of you—can see the sum total of the ground on which you stand on” Darling the Hypocrite immediately lights a fire to the floor & People Gringo pounds his fist on a book & says that rocking chair & watermelon are the same word only with different letters … St. Bread from the riot squad—entering with his chess pieces & a hilarious hard on & he laughs too

  mother say go in That direction & please

  do the greatest deed of all time & say i say

  mother but it’s already been done & she say

  well what else is there for you to do & i say

  i dont know mother, but i’m not going in That

  direction—i’m going in that direction & she

  say ok but where will you be & i say i dont

  know mother but i’m not tom joad & she say

  all right then i am not your mother

  prince hamlet of his hexagram—sheik of unsanitary angels—he rides on a bareback instrument—exact factor concerning the reality of grandstand—Taj Mahal & Clytia’s sundial missing—this exact factor missing … nevertheless—the bubbling under does not disturb him—Lilith teaches her new husband, Bubba, how to use deodorant—also she teaches him that “stinky doo doo” means nasty filth & both of these teachings together add up to Bubbling Under Number One … Obie Doesnt—whose eyes are waxed & that they say lives in a world of his own—he keeps repeating “these aint normal people are they? are they? oh my God—pass the crackers—these arent normal people are they? hello hello can you hear me?” “yes yes it’s true—they are—they are the normal people” says prince—who gives Obie a little tickle—makes him laugh “but remember“it’s like the boogie man told the centaur when the centaur invaded the territory of the Giant Mother Geese, ‘you dont have to be around those people’—by the way, i’ve heard you live in a world of your own” “yes it’s true” says Obie “& i also dont go to birthday parties” “very good” says the prince “keep up the good work” … about this bareback instrument—sometimes the prince is sure he’s on it but not so sure he’s riding on it—at other times, he’s sure he’s riding on it, but not so sure it’s bareback—at odd moments, the prince is sure that he’s riding on something bareback but not so sure it’s an instrument … all his daily adventures, unsuccessful potatoes & other pirates try to pin him down to Certainality & put him in his place once & for all “care to arm wrestle?” say some—“youre a phony—youre no prince!” say the smarter ones who go into bathtubs & ask for the usual … the prince sees many jacks & jills come tumbling down “funny how when you look, you cant find any pieces to pick up” he says this usually once a day to his bareback instrument—who never talks back—most good souls dont

  it is not that there is no Receptive for anything written or acted in the first person—it is just that there is no Second person

  MAMMOTH NOAH & the orient marauders all on the morality rap & Priest of Harmony in a narrow costume—he’s with the angels now & he says “all’s useless—useless” & Instinct, poet of the antique zenith—putting on his hoofs & whinnying “all’s not useless—all is very signifying!” & the insane pied piper stealing the Queen’s Pawn & the conquering war cry “neither—neither” & jails being cremated & jails falling & newly arrived spirits digging—digging their fingernails—their fingernails into each other … Goal—Hari Cari & the Cruel Mother teasing at your harmless fate … the sight of george raft—richard nixon—liberace—d.h. lawrence & pablo casals—all the same person—& struggle—struggle & your weapons of curls blowing & Digging—Digging Everything

  aretha—known in gallup as number 69—in

  wheeling as the cat’s in heat—in pittsburgh

  as number 5—in brownsville as the left

  road, the lonesome sound—in atlanta as

  dont dance, listen—in bowling green as

  oh no, no, not again—she’s known as horse

  chick up in cheyenne—in new york city she’s

  known as just plain aretha … i shall play

  her as my trump card

  i would like to do something worthwhile like perhaps plant a tree on the ocean but i am just a guitar player—with no absurd fears of her reputation, Black Gal co-exists with melody & i want to feel my evaporation like Black Gal feels her co-existence … i do not want to carry a pitchfork prince hamlet—he’s somewhere on the totem pole—he hums a little shallow tune “oh killing me by the grave”—aretha—lady godiva of the migrants—she sings too … there are a lot of historians under the totem pole—all pretending to be making a living—there’s also a lot of spies & customs agents—the popes dont quit & the artists live in the meantime—the meantime dies & in its place comes the sometimes—there is never any real sometime & the customs agents & spies usually turn into star ice skaters on a winter vacation & they brood about the meantime/ they usually dont know anybody under the totem pole excpt their elders … San Francisco freezing & New York neath spells of Poe & famous barbarians “you can make it if you have nothing” lips prince to a spaghetti dinner—wasting away on a slushy rink—belonging to nobody & the lumberjacks are coming “i’m searching—i’m searching for some kind of meaning!” says Jug the Lady, an escaped werewolf—she wears a chrome head piece & has been studying Yugoslavia for the past ten months—she has a built-in jukebox on her motorcycle “your mind is small—it is limited—what kind of sense must you need?” says prince “i want to be on the totem pole too” she confides “the lumberjacks are coming” says prince & then he takes out his shirt tail & begins to draw circles on the air “there are magnets on this shirt tail & they all pick up pieces of minute—now you see—i’ve got something to do—why’n you go see this fellow—Moan is his name—he’ll straighten you—& if he cant—he knows someone tha
t can” one of Jug’s friends, a drummer who doesnt drum but rather just drops his sticks on the drums—comes out of the bushes—rather a sadist type & whose entire wardrobe consists of a marine’s uniform & a washed out nurse’s outfit—he yells “i’m looking for a partner—gimme some secrets!” & then there’s two little boys playing & one says “if i owned the world, each man would have a million dollars” & one says “if i owned the world—each man would have the chance to save the world once in his lifetime” … prince hamlet of his hexagram—he pulls a train & makes love to miss Julie Ann Johnson “i said gimme some secrets—i’m just the usual beer” says this drummer & prince carves Memphis—London & Viet Nam into the pole “there are only a few things that exist: Boogie Woogie—highpowered frogs—Nashville Blues—harmonicas walking—80 moons & sleeping midgets—there are only three things that continue: Life—Death & the lumberjacks are coming”